Talk
by brencon
Summary: Blaine tries to rectify his mistakes from November. But will Dave listen? Two-shot. Blainofsky.


**Author's Notes: **Blainofsky. I just... I feel this may be my OTP for Glee. And it encompasses my love for Dave and Blaine. Thanks to DanglingHearts for the beta. Part 1 of 2.

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><p>He was the one, the <em>only <em>one, to ever tell Dave that he wasn't alone. Granted, no one knew, but still. He was the first and that counts for something, right? Kurt had transferred back to McKinley and the Bully Whips were parading down its corridors, putting a stop to _any_ act of bullying before it could grow and expand to lengths of Dave's own acts in the not so distant past.

And he felt good doing it. Saving people. Stopping the hate. Being appreciated for something other than his strength on the ice or on the pitch (or his expert aiming when it came to a slushy).

So he was surprised to get a visitor in the form of one Dalton Warbler, Blaine Anderson. They'd talked, what, twice? And both meetings had ended in a shoving contest.

But there he was, in uniform, leaning against the goal post as Dave finished another lap of the track.

Dave had to stop. He glanced around, but Kurt was nowhere to be seen. Why was Blaine here? Dave grabbed his water bottle from the ground and took a long drink, clearing his mind before he spoke to the singer.

"'sup?" he asked casually, resealing the top of his bottle before tossing it onto the grass. He crossed his arms, knitting them across his chest as he waited for Blaine to reply.

"Hey, Dave. Am I interrupting your workout?" Blaine replied, suddenly wondering himself what exactly he was attempting to do.

"Nah, I'm done for the day. Too fucking warm."

"I'm just glad summer's over soon, so I can get out of this uniform for a few months. Damn thing is stifling." Blaine shrugged, pulling at the collar of his blazer.

Dave chuckled, his face lighting up as he laughed.

"What?" Blaine asked, his smile somehow only lifting the right side of his mouth.

"I just thought you loved it... or that Kurt would'a wanted you in it all the time," Dave answered, watching as Blaine pulled his tie loose – and he couldn't help but wonder why he'd not thought of doing it sooner. Blaine released the top two buttons as well, relishing as a fresh breeze blew over his flushed skin.

"Kurt hated the uniform, said it stifled his individuality."

"He didn't think that when he was a Cheerio last year," Dave said, scratching at his arm as he checked the time on his wristwatch – he only wore it when working out as it simplified carrying a cell when jogging.

"Well he... wait, what? Kurt was on the Cheerios?"

"He helped them win the title last year, singing a solo in French while they performed. It was on the news, dude. Where've you been?" Dave smirked, taking in the Warbler's amazed expression. "YouTube it man, seriously."

"I will, when I get home."

They stood in silence, as one remembered the high-kick Kurt performed and the other imagined Kurt's voice singing in French.

Blaine shook himself from his daydream, wondering why Kurt had never used that as proof that he was very much capable of leading the Warblers during a performance, when he remembered the reason he'd visited McKinley that afternoon.

"Listen, I was wondering if you'd wanna get a coffee or something? I'd like to have a civilised conversation with you."

"And the Lima Bean equates civilised to you?" Dave retorted, wondering why this guy was offering him a chat.

"Well, it's the best on offer in this town. Besides, I think it's time that someone impartial helped you out."

"Helped me out with what?" Dave started, already sliding into his well honed mask of denial, "And how, in any way, can you be impartial? You're Kurt's boyfriend!"

"I may be his boyfriend, but I still want to help you come to terms with yourself. Even if Kurt is trying to do the same, with PFLAG and all that, but... well, I meant what I said, the first time we met. You're not alone and I want to help you come to terms with who you are."

And Dave blanched, instantly flashing back to early November when so much shit happened. When everything reached its highest peak of bullshit, or the lowest point in his life.

Dave couldn't decide between either metaphor.

Blaine watched the football players reaction, taking in the tension that seemed to instantly rest on the taller boy's shoulders.

"You okay there, Dave?"

Dave let out a deep sigh, rolled his eyes at how close to tears he actually was and coughed to clear his throat.

"I'm sorry for, you know, shoving you. But what you did was the stupidest thing ever, confronting me in front of everyone like that."

Blaine sighed, rubbing his hand against his cheek.

"Yeah, not my best plan. I apologise. But, in my defence, I was just using yours and Kurt's situation to make up for my own reaction to bullying... or whatever. I really am sorry, David."

Dave could hear the sincerity in the shorter teen's words, could feel it passing from Blaine into himself through the expression in the singer's face. It was powerful, so much in fact that it caused his heart to beat just that little bit faster, so fast that it skipped a beat.

Words failed him, so Dave nodded to show his understanding and acceptance of Blaine's words.

Moments passed. Awkwardness consumed them. Blaine broke the silence.

"Coffee?"

xxx

It was an odd feeling, Blaine surmised, as he took a sip of his coffee. He was actually liking his conversation partner. Not only were they chatting, but he was actually liking him; David Karofsky. They had their shared interest in football and, to a certain extent, music tastes. They both believed that math was the greatest subject, as it provided a question that would have one answer and one answer only, with no deviation. It surprised him, really surprised him, how much he actually liked the former bully.

They'd covered every other topic, including why they thought Buffy the Vampire Slayer had a greater mythology and fandom to throw yourself into in comparison to Lost, with its many characters, plotlines and 'mind-fucker-y', as Dave had so eloquently stated.

So, when the conversation came upon a lull, Blaine decided to broach the reason they were sitting here.

"I meant what I said, you know?" he started, carefully placing the now near-empty coffee cup back on the table. At the look Dave threw him, he continued, "It's a very hard thing to come terms with. I... My dad couldn't look at me for weeks, could not stand the sight of me. And when he did start talking to me again, it was all about manly things – like he was trying to right some wrong he had done when I was younger: we talked football and cars, he even had me help out with rebuilding this old car. He... just couldn't understand that it wasn't something he'd done, something he could fix. I was just being me. And then everything went to hell at my old school and I had to transfer to Dalton and... I've not talked about this in a long time. Not even Kurt knows this." He stopped abruptly, taking a deep, soul-steadying breath.

"I was like you... Sometimes, I'm still like you. I don't fight with my fists, I don't make it obvious. But I do conform. I follow what the other guys do. I still do, even though all my new friends know. I still feel like I should hide myself."

"What happened at your old school?" Dave asked, practically whispering so as not to disturb the Warbler from his trip down memory lane, however hard it was.

"I asked a boy, the only other _out_ guy, to this dance; the Sadie Hawkins dance and these three guys beat the ever living crap out of us. I transferred two days later."

Blaine was red with... he's not sure what the actual word is, but he felt the relief of voicing that pain again, to a bully no less, who seemed to be downtrodden and mortified. That wasn't his intention. But it was good to see that Dave could feel the fear, the emotion, the _regret_.

"Santana, she kinda blackmailed me into apologising and setting up the Bully Whips. But, after she told me she knew I was... _you know,_ she'd dragged me back to her house and we got on YouTube. And she showed me all these clips. About people like me, people like us. About all the shit they'd gone through and how it gets better. Even though I became a weeping mess with all of it, she then clicked onto this site that – it listed out all the kids who'd killed themselves over being bullied because of their sexuality. I fell apart after that. So much so that when her mother came in to ask what the problem was, I came out to her. That I was such a hypocrite that I lied about everything, caused so many problems that I couldn't even see the truth anymore. So I came out to her."

Blaine couldn't help himself, he released a shocked breath at the revelation. But he knew there was only thing to ask.

"And how'd that feel?"

Dave scoffed, roughly dragging the sleeve of his letterman jacket across his face.

"Like the biggest fucking mistake of my life – the Lopez's go to the same church as my parents, my fucking _grandparents!_ But when I realised that she wasn't gonna say anything. Then...," Dave sighed, just the hint of a smile breaking through, "Then it felt like the weight of the world was lifted from my shoulders. Even for a little a bit."

"So you've already come out to a few people now?"

"I've told one person, Blaine. Everyone else figured it out, and you were told."

"OK, Mr. Technicality, but still – you're out to a few people. How does that make you feel?" Blaine questioned, taking a sip of his coffee.

"I'm worried all the fucking time, man. Apparently I'm more obvious than I thought – Santana caught me checking out Sam's ass a few days before we got Kurt back to McKinley – leading us into this whole thing. And now that the list of people knowing is growing ever larger, there'll come a time when the idiots on the football and hockey teams will know and then my life will be over."

"Do you really think that? Even after seeing all those videos? That popularity in high school is the be all and end all of your existence? "

"Honestly? Sometimes. But, being realistic, my popularity is already falling – at least amongst the jocks. All the other losers are seeing me as some kind of hero now, cause of the Bully Whips."

"Isn't that better? That people like you because you're helping them, rather than out of fear?"

"It is. But then I ask myself, are they only doing it because they don't want me to turn on them again."

"You have to believe, Dave." Blaine advised, instantly falling into the role of mentor.

"And what am I supposed to believe in, oh fearless leader?"

"Believe that people are better than you expect," Blaine said, after rolling his eyes at the quote, "believe that they will still like you when you're honest. Because that's all that matters. Being yourself."

And Blaine would've continued with platitudes and metaphors, but the arrival of a text thwarted him.

Dave retrieved his phone from his pocket and quickly read it before finishing off his coffee.

"I've gotta go. Dad wants me to start on the dinner before they get home from work – which means I have a half hour. So..." Dave stood up, finishing off his reply to his Dad and pocketing the phone. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his letterman jackey, trying to think of something appropriate to say to end the random evening.

"Before you go, can I see your phone?" Blaine asked, shrugging on his blazer as he too, stood up.

"Why?"

"So I can give you my number."

Wide eyed, Dave backed away from their booth and tossed his empty cup in the trash. "And why are you wanting to give me your number?"

"In case the weight of your world might grows any heavier again."

And Dave mumbled his acceptance and passed his cell over silently.

Five minutes later, they each climbed into their own cars and drove back in opposite directions. But Dave felt that, finally, even with Santana as his beard and Kurt in the planning stages of creating the PFLAG, _finally _ he had someone who could understand. Who would listen without judging him.


End file.
